


One Word

by cassiopeia221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotions, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiopeia221B/pseuds/cassiopeia221B
Summary: The Empty Hearse with a twist. After Sherlock showed up at the restaurant, he and John left Mary behind and returned together to Baker Street to have a Talk. However, things don't go exactly the way Sherlock hoped they would...
Relationships: John Watson/Mary Morstan (mentioned), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

“One word, Sherlock, that's all I would have needed. One word, to let me know that you were alive!”

John clenched his fist, twice, thrice, pacing up and down the room like an anxious animal. He couldn't bear to look at Sherlock, who was sitting on the sofa with his legs curled up and didn't say a word ever since they'd left the restaurant and returned to Baker Street.

To be fair, John still didn't process the fact, that Sherlock was physically _there_ in the first place. He'd seen him die. He'd seen him jump off the roof with his very own eyes. He'd seen the pool of blood, he'd tried to take Sherlock's pulse but his heart had been beating no more. He'd been to the funeral, mourned his death, for _two years_ and never stopped crying himself to sleep and then suddenly... Sherlock was back. All with a fake moustache and seemingly a never-ending supply of insensitive jokes. And John was _mad_ , he was raging and furious. He had wanted nothing more but to have Sherlock back but once Sherlock did show up and nonchalantly announced that he had bloody faked his death, John felt... betrayed.

“It was for your own good, John.” Sherlock's voice suddenly echoed through the room, prompting John to finally come to a halt and throw at least a glance in his direction. Albeit a very angry glance.

“M-my own _good_?” John huffed in disbelief. “I thought you were _dead_. I thought I _lost_ you. How's that, hm? Does that sound remotely _good_ to you?”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. “You don't understand.”

John blinked at Sherlock, then gave a mock-serious nod as though in agreement. “Of course, of course, I almost forgot. I am just your dumb, little friend – sorry, cardboard cut-out - that occasionally takes notes. I could never comprehend the secrets of your ingenious mind.”

Sherlock let out another sigh. “That's not what I meant.” He lifted himself up from the sofa and took only the smallest step toward John, trying to ignore the pain in his back. His skin was practically burning and his bones still ached from when John had tackled him to the restaurant floor but he couldn't blame him, really. And he surely wasn't going to bring up the incident now.

“You're not dumb, John.”

“Well, that's news, coming from you,” John snorted and crossed his arms, keeping his distance from Sherlock.

“John. Please, listen to me. This is serious.”

“Mhm. Says the man that pretended to be dead for two years _,_ then materialised literally out of nowhere right in the middle of my engagement and thought I'd find it funny if he cracked a joke about my terrible moustache.”

“Fair enough. But it _is_ terrible.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” John groaned, throwing his arms in the air. That was the last straw. Heartbroken and exasperated, he started to head toward the stairs, determined to leave but just before reaching the door, he turned on his heels again and pointed his shaking finger at Sherlock.

“You're an insufferable git, you know?” He swallowed thickly, barely able to hold back the tears. “And yet...” The rest of that sentence remained stuck in John's throat. He couldn't finish it. Sherlock stepped a little closer, he wanted to hold John in his arms, to soothe him but he knew he wasn't allowed. Never. Let alone now.

“I am... sorry,” Sherlock whispered, at last, breaking the heavy silence that had descended. Not until now he fully realised how much he had actually _hurt_ John. But the worst of all – deep down he knew that a simple _I am sorry_ wouldn't fix the enormous mistake he had evidently made.

And he was right. John just shook his head again and shut his eyes for a second as if to stop the tears at all cost. He didn't want to break down in front of Sherlock.

“You're sorry but it doesn't change anything. _If_ you're actually sorry at all,” John sniffed, avoiding Sherlock's gaze again.

“I am, I mean it. I didn't know-”

“That I'd miss you?” John's voice quivered but the words were as sharp as a knife cutting through the air and pierced right through Sherlock's heart, shattering it into billions of pieces. He was staring right into Sherlock's eyes now, his whole body shivering.

“How could you do that to me? Let me grieve for two entire years. Let me suffer. _Alone_.”

Sherlock's face was but a white sheet. He hated seeing John in such a state. He hated _himself_ for causing him so much pain. This wasn't the plan. Sherlock didn't expect that his death, albeit temporary, would leave John in such a dark, horrendous place.

“I did it to protect you,” he finally managed to reply, but to no avail. John refused to listen.

“To protect me from _what_?” John sobbed, dangerously close to bursting into tears. “Sherlock, whatever other fate would be kinder than losing the one person that mattered the most to me in the whole world.”

Sherlock's jaw dropped ever so slightly. John kept twisting the knife and God, did it hurt. _He mattered to John. John cared about him._ But he _ruined_ it and there was no coming back.

“You...you were in danger,” Sherlock gulped, desperate to save the situation, despite being fully aware of the futility of his efforts. “If I didn't do what Moriarty had asked me to... his men would have... I did it for you, John.”

“Christ, Sherlock! Then why didn't you let me know? As soon as I was safe? Why did you have to wait for two years?”

Sherlock lowered his head. “I did, I did try to contact you. So many times, I was so close to letting you know. At the grave, too.”

John knit his eyebrows. It couldn't get any worse than that. “At the grave? You were there? When... when I-”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you,” Sherlock nodded but kept his head down. “But I couldn't. Because if I did... If I did let you know, who knows what would have happened. I couldn't risk it, don't you get it? I needed to make sure that no harm would come to you. I had to take care of Moriarty's network first and then-”

“I am going to stop you right there, Sherlock. I don't give a crap about any of that,” John growled coldly. “Two years, damn it. Over seven hundred days. And I counted every one of them. And every single one of them felt like a nightmare.”

“And you think I had it _easy_?” Sherlock suddenly raised his voice, despite himself. He didn't mean to snap at John, he had every right to be angry, after all. But knowing just how much he actually _meant_ to him and what could have been, only if he'd made a different choice... Sherlock couldn't bear to conceal his feelings anymore.

“The only thing that kept me alive was the thought of you, John,” Sherlock's voice cracked but he kept talking. It was the first time he truly allowed himself to show his most vulnerable side to John, but he didn't care. He had to let the truth out.

“The prospect of coming back to you and seeing you again. Believe me or not, those two years were as much of a torture for me as they were for you.”

John inhaled deeply. “Then you should have told me. You should have called. At least once. I would have been fine, I would have waited for you. Right here. At home.” John gritted his teeth, he couldn't keep it together any longer. Hot, bitter tears rolled down his cheeks and there was nothing he could do.

Sherlock's breath hitched at the sight. He couldn't just stand there and let John drown in agony all by himself. Carefully, he tried to approach him but just as he moved, John raised his hand and pushed him away. Firmly enough to make himself clear.

“Don't. Just... don't.”

“Okay,” Sherlock breathed out and backed away. It wasn't okay, hell, not at all, but if John didn't want to be touched, Sherlock certainly wasn't going to force him. All he could do was to watch and wait in silence until John composed himself.

“Just one more thing, that's all I need to know,” John said a few moments later, wiping the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand. “What did you expect would happen, hm?”

Sherlock frowned in confusion. “Happen when?”

“Did you expect that you'd return, make a few stupid jokes, we'd both laugh it off and I'd immediately forgive you and forget?”

“N-no. I...,” Sherlock cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front. Never before he had felt as lost and clueless as during that conversation and it showed. “To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I expected. I guess I was naively hoping that I'd come back, I'd find you here and we'd, perhaps, maybe... I don't know, could-”

“What? Act as if nothing had happened? Live together til the rest of our lives?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. That's exactly what he had always wanted, but judging from John's tone, he didn't share the same enthusiasm. Or so it seemed.

“Well, I certainly didn't expect you to get engaged to somebody else,” Sherlock retorted but just as the words escaped his mouth, he instantly regretted it. He couldn't have failed more miserably if he tried. John's eyes widened at that but he could all but gawk at Sherlock, speechless and profoundly perplexed.

“What... what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sherlock opened his mouth but all he could let out were a few unintelligible sounds. John waited and waited but Sherlock seemed to have actually malfunctioned for a moment there.

“Okay, fine. I don't need to hear that anyway,” John snapped back, but God, was it a lie. Sherlock had implied _something,_ whatever it was and John most certainly did need to hear an explanation but if Sherlock wasn't going to bring himself to talk, he surely wasn't going to try and make him. Instead, he gave a tense nod and turned toward the door. He needed air, or else he was going to combust. “By the way, you're not invited to the wedding,” he quickly added and with that, stormed out of the room. _Fled_ , to be correct.

It wasn't until Sherlock heard the door slam that he finally perceived, but by the time he did, it was too late... John was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock absently blew out a string of smoke, his eyes upon the ceiling and his mind racing faster than ever before. He couldn't make it stop, couldn't focus on anything but the thought of John. They hadn't talked for six months now, six excruciatingly long months. John had decided to ignore each and every one of Sherlock's attempts to get in touch and while it didn't stop Sherlock from sending at least half a dozen texts a day, he had certainly lost hope that he'd ever be forgiven. Today, however, was _especially_ difficult. It was John's wedding day, after all...

With an irritated sigh, Sherlock finished his cigarette and lazily dragged himself off the couch but only to go and grab another one from his stash. He kept grumbling to himself as he shuffled across the dimly lit flat but couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights, not when he planned to return to sulking on the couch anyway.

After a few seconds of mindless groping in the dark, he finally located the last pack of cigarettes that he had hidden in the cupboard, behind the cookie jar and hastily lit one. He knew he shouldn't but he had to admit to himself that he didn't care anymore.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, Sherlock turned to walk back to the sitting room but just as he stepped forth, the door in the hallway suddenly creaked and he could hear that someone was climbing up the stairs.

There was no mistaking the familiar gait, but no... couldn't be _him._ Sherlock deemed it highly unlikely. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, listening intently but the creaking had already stopped in the meantime. Must have been Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock thought to himself and decided to brush it off.

Only it wasn't Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock could barely believe his eyes, once _John,_ his John, emerged from the shadows and casually leaned against the door-frame. Clean-shaven, sharp-dressed, and sporting a slightly longer haircut, he looked _great_. Appearance-wise at least...

“John...” Sherlock's voice trembled, barely a soft whisper but the other man was quiet and the look in his eyes strict. And Sherlock knew exactly why.

“Since when do you smoke inside the flat?” John reproached him, gesturing toward the cigarette in Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock gulped. _John was there_. _Talking to him._ But he was still angry, if the deep frown on his face was anything to go by. For a moment there, Sherlock considered throwing himself around John's neck and beg for forgiveness, but very quickly decided against it again, once after realising what a pathetic idea that was. No, he couldn't let the emotions get in the way, not again. He had to put on a mask and pretend to be above it. And so he did.

“Since you don't live here,” he shrugged and with an air of obtrusive theatricality, he flopped down on the couch. He wasn't exactly proud of himself, in fact, he found such attitude deplorable and loathed himself even more than before but the truth was that he was panicking and didn't know what to say or do with himself.

John but crossed his arms, though, and nodded understandingly. “You seem to be perfectly contented, then.”

Sherlock couldn't be further from contented but he didn't say anything and took another drag instead.

He was doing it on purpose, John was very well aware, but it wasn't his place to give him lessons. God knows what was going through Sherlock Holmes' mind, especially now that they hadn't seen each other for so long. Speaking of which, Sherlock seemed to have changed more than his habits...

“I see you've been refurnishing too,” John remarked once after noticing the empty spot in front of the fireplace. His heart broke at the notion that Sherlock had decided to remove his chair but on the other hand, he should have prepared to expect unexpected.

“Well, it was no longer needed,” Sherlock shrugged again but John could see that his lips were slightly wobbling. “You haven't replied to a single text I'd send you, didn't answer my calls. Maybe if you did I wouldn't have removed your chair.”

The tension in the room was growing to be unbearable.

“Maybe if you didn't disappear for two years, we wouldn't have to go through _any_ of this,” John retorted and stepped forward, clenching his left fist.

Sherlock's eyes widened. _Why did John decide to pay a visit anyway? Today of all days? Sherlock_ sat up again and all but stared, scrutinising John for a few seconds, then finally, put out his cigarette.

“I apologised,” he asserted, fighting back the tears that all of a sudden started to burn his eyes. “Do you want me down on my knees?”

John shook his head and gave an ironic chuckle. “Jesus, you have some audacity, I'll give you that.”

Sherlock huffed. “Why don't you take me seriously anymore? I'd do _anything_ for you, John. Just say a word, and I'll do it but please... I beg of you,” Sherlock folded his hands and closed his eyes, “forgive me. _Please_.”

John blinked, his breath significantly quickening and the tremors in his left hand relentlessly reminding him of his fears and insecurities. “You've hurt me,” he rasped, his voice slowly giving in. “So much, Sherlock.”

“I... I know,” Sherlock swallowed emptily. ”And I am so, _so_ sorry. I swear, John, lying to you was probably... no, _definitely_ the biggest mistake of my life.”

“That it was. And, trust me, it's _hard_ , because truth be told? I want to. I do want to forgive you, Sherlock, more than anything, but I don't think I'll ever be able to. Not in entirety,” John admitted and with that, his eyes filled with tears again.

Sherlock took a deep shaky breath. “Then why are you here? Aren't you... aren't you supposed to be enjoying your _wedding night_ anyway?” There was so much pain, so much bitterness and hopelessness wrapped in those words... Sherlock could barely finish the question through the tears. That was only the beginning, however.

“I didn't marry her,” John responded all of a sudden and to say that Sherlock's heart started to hammer frantically would be an understatement. He blinked and blinked, his mouth hanging open and no matter how brilliant he was, he suddenly found himself completely useless.

“Why?”

John did open his mouth to answer but he simply couldn't bring himself to utter a word. He but licked his lips, gazing at Sherlock ever so lovingly for a few moments before finally gathering enough courage to do what he should have done ages ago. With a little sniff, he strode toward Sherlock, bent down to cup his cheeks and pulled him into the most desperate kiss.

Just as their lips touched, Sherlock plain froze for a second there but quickly enough perceived again and immediately started kissing back. They could have been kissing for half an hour and wouldn't realise, completely immersed in the moment. John gently wiped Sherlock's tears away as they kissed, while Sherlock grabbed the lapels of John's shirt and pulled him down on the sofa. It wasn't until much later that they broke the kiss but even once after they did, they couldn't stop brushing their lips and noses.

“I love you,” John murmured tenderly and pecked the corner of Sherlock's mouth. “That's why. Because no matter what we've been through, I have _always_ loved you and only you and I always will.”

Sherlock had already been breathless before but John somehow managed to kick the air out of his lungs the second time too.

“B-But-”

John sighed, taking both of Sherlock's hands into his own and pressed their foreheads together. “I know what I just said and I... I am sorry, Sherlock, but I meant it, yes. What you did to me was-”

“Unforgivable, I understand.”

“That's not what I was...” John piped down abruptly and with another sigh on his lips, he stole himself a small kiss. “I guess I need more time, is all. It's going to take a while but regardless, I can't and don't want to imagine living without you for one more second.”

“You have all the time in the world, John.”

“Thank you. Believe me, I did want to reply to your texts. And answer your calls. But I was so... angry and frustrated and still in shock and what you'd said left me so confused, my feelings were all over the place. And Mary wasn't exactly helpful either. She kept talking about the wedding, that I should concentrate on the preparations, that it would help.”

“You didn't leave her at the altar, though, did you?”

For the first time in forever, John allowed himself a laugh. “Of course I didn't, no. But I guess she _could_ tell that my heart... belonged to someone else.”

Sherlock smiled tearfully. “I love you too, John. In case that wasn't obvious.”

John giggled again and leaned in to lock their lips in yet another kiss.

“Oh and... you have _no_ idea... how glad I am that you got rid of that moustache,” Sherlock added between the kisses, and in turn, made John giggle even harder. Which is why they weren't exactly _kissing_ anymore, but neither of them seemed to mind. After all, there were thousands and thousands of more kisses about to come.


End file.
